A Million Little Pieces Of My Mind

Every verse here is from a letter home from a recruit who's clearly never left his county before, earnestly floored by things the rest of the outfit stopped noticing on day two: running water, a shower schedule, a mattress that isn't stuffed with straw from the barn. It's a small joke played straight—eight verses of a kid convinced the Army has invented luxury, right up to the closer, where he allows, almost as an afterthought, that so far war isn't Hell.

Frank Bellamy sings lead—you'll find his biography over on "Three Girls Back Home." Worth adding here: Frank grew up on the Great Lakes shipping docks of Duluth, Minnesota, about as far from hick country as this side of the continent gets, which made his exaggerated backwoods drawl on this number a running joke with the rest of the band—none of whom could ever get him to explain where he'd picked it up.

Dear Ma, I'm writin' from camp,
Where the sergeant says "son, you're a scamp."
But they've got indoor plumbing,
And water keeps comin'—
Why, the floor ain't a little bit damp.

Dear Ma, you won't credit this tale:
They serve supper without havin' to nail
Some critter that's runnin'—
No shootin', no gunnin'—
Just a plate and a fork, without fail.

Dear Ma, they make us all shower,
Every day at the very same hour.
Hot water on tap,
Like a warm thunderclap—
I feel cleaner than spring's first flower.

Dear Ma, they gave me a bed,
With a mattress that's stuffed, not just spread
With straw from the stable,
Believe it, no fable—
I sink like a stone made o' lead.

Dear Ma, they're teachin' us drills,
How to march without fallin' in hills.
I step left, they step right,
It's a peculiar sight,
But Sarge, he jes' hollers for thrills.

Dear Ma, they're feedin' us pie,
And I swear on the Lord, I could cry.
It's store-bought and fancy,
Not squirrel-shot and chancy—
I'm livin' like some city guy.

Dear Ma, I'm learnin' to shave,
Which the fellas all claim makes me brave.
No creek water chillin',
No possum-fat fillin'—
Just a razor the Army gave.

Dear Ma, I'm doin' just fine,
Though the sergeant's still yellin' "fall in line!"
But this place is a wonder,
And I'm startin' to ponder—
If the world's always been this divine.

Dear Ma, your boy's doin' swell,
Though my feet've got blisters to tell.
The chow ain't half bad,
And I miss you and Dad—
And don't worry, so far, war ain't Hell!